


I Want To Hold Your Hand

by lumipops



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: M/M, also canon, and very unsoft angst, featuring very soft aftercare, important trigger warning for one line suggestive of suicidal thoughts, pretty explicit sexual content, that all deals with two boys in love, that teeters on this weird edge of pwp and poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:36:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26783779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumipops/pseuds/lumipops
Summary: Hanbin remembers the feeling of Bobby’s hands on his face, remembers the wave of calm that came over him and the sudden feeling that nothing could hurt him, that nothing could get to him as long as Bobby kept holding him.
Relationships: Kim Hanbin | B.I/Kim Jiwon | Bobby
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	I Want To Hold Your Hand

**Author's Note:**

> first, in case you missed my trigger warning, there is one line in this fic suggestive of hanbin having suicidal thoughts.
> 
> second, this is something i found in my notes app that was about 90% finished that i'd completely forgotten about. so i just quickly finished it and posted it because why not. even if only a few of you read it and enjoy it, that's worth it for me.

Hanbin’s always had a thing for hands.

It starts as an accidental discovery, more a fascination of mechanics than anything else, when he’s little and finds himself staring transfixed at the way his tiny toddler hand curls and uncurls into a fist.

Back then he’d slowly straightened out just his pinky, marveling at the way the little bumps of his knuckles smoothed flat as it unbent, before he'd done the same thing one by one with each finger next to it, repeating the process over and over until he'd eventually gotten distracted by his toy piano instead.

After that day, he’d started to notice all the things hands could do; all the things they could hold and touch and move and feel.

...

...

Hanbin learned some hands did good things.

...

...

For instance, his mom’s hands were always warm and comforting; they’d make his favorite foods when he was sad and rub his back when he was sick. 

His dad’s hands were strong and safe; they’d lift Hanbin up onto his shoulders during walks by the river and kept him from falling to the ground when he first learned to ride a bike. 

Even Hanbin’s childhood best friend's hands were kind and thoughtful.  They’d share candy with him after school and help him re-tie his shoes when the loops would unravel and five year old Hanbin forgot how to twist the laces back together again.

...

...

Of course, as he gets older, Hanbin quickly learns some hands also do bad things.

...

...

When he’s eleven and can’t quite get the footwork of a complicated new dance move right, the instructor calls him pathetic and shoves him to the ground so hard the bruises on his elbows don't heal for a month.

When he’s fourteen and excited to share a song he’s been perfecting for weeks, Hanbin watches, heart shattering and helpless, as the record producer lets out a snort before tapping his fingertips across the computer keys, grinning wickedly as he deletes Hanbin's entire rap after a single listen.

Then, when he’s sixteen and loses the chance to debut, dried tears smeared across his cheeks and the devesated faces of five boys flashing across his eyes every time he blinks, his own hands are what hover the glinting blade over his wrists and think _what if?_

...

And that was before he realized how cruel the world could actually be to him.

...

And that was before he realized how much more he’d have to endure down the road.

...

...

And that was before Bobby shoved the bathroom door open hard enough that it broke the latch, knocked the razor out of his trembling fingers and cupped Hanbin’s face in his hands and said _don’t_.

...

...

Hanbin remembers the feeling of Bobby’s hands on his face, remembers the wave of calm that came over him and the sudden feeling that nothing could hurt him, that nothing could get to him as long as Bobby kept holding him.

He remembers lifting an arm up to his face and putting one of his own hands over Bobby’s, curling his fingers around the older boy’s slightly bigger ones and saying _okay_ and _i won’t_ and _i’m sorry_.

He remembers wanting nothing more in that moment than to be able to hold Bobby’s hand forever.

And _that_ was before they started dating, before they started fucking, before Hanbin realized everything Bobby’s hands could do to him.

...

...

Before he realized everything he wanted them to do to him.

...

...

Now he wants Bobby’s hands everywhere all at once; wants them wrapped around his hips, pushing open his thighs, twisted in his hair, and shoving him down; down to his knees, down across the bed-- down onto Bobby’s dick as Hanbin rides him on the couch in their new apartment.

He wants Bobby’s fingers on him, in him, on his dick and in his ass, stretching and pressing and twisting and taking until Hanbin’s falling apart and gasping for air, unable to catch his breath.

He wants more of Bobby inside him, wants more of Bobby’s tongue working past his rim, more of Bobby’s dick inching its way down his throat.  Wants more of Bobby’s cum filling him up any way he can get it.

Hanbin wants more of Bobby’s fingers, wants two, wants three--wants four of them inside of him.  Fantasizes clenching around all five digits, moaning obscenely at the thought of Bobby’s entire fist stretching him open, knuckles stroking against his prostate over and over again; keeping him just on the edge of coming until he's writhing uncontrollably, sheets twisted tightly around his wrists, and begging for Bobby to finally just _fuck_ him.

He wants Bobby’s hands pushing his knees back against his chest, wants Bobby’s palms on his ass and thumbs on the puffy pink edges of his hole spreading him wide open until he shoving three knuckles into his own mouth to muffle a scream when Bobby finally bottoms  out inside him.

Hanbin wants all of it, likes all of it, always craves more of it even as he’s covered in cum and sweat and tears and Bobby’s hand cradling his face is the only thing his brain is able to understand.  Is the only thing it can focus on when everything else around him whites out and shatters away once Bobby shoves two fingers in alongside his dick and Hanbin comes again, sobbing and overstimulated, blacking out as Bobby’s other hand tightens around his throat.

...

...

Hanbin likes what comes after the sex, too.

...

...

He likes the way Bobby’s touch immediately changes from rough and possessive to soft and slow.  Likes the warm palms running up and down his spine and the fingertips tenderly caressing each and every bruise left scattered across the skin.

He likes the careful way Bobby cleans him up, gentle washcloth running along his skin and gentler lips following the same path, mouthing a trail of kisses across the goosebumps that spring up as the cool air hits his wet skin.

Hanbin likes how afterwards Bobby turns off the lights and tucks them both under the covers, tugging Hanbin up against his chest to cuddle.  Likes how Bobby pets his hair and massages his lower back, lips alternating between peppering soft kisses across his face and murmuring _i love yous_ against his forehead.

Hanbin likes how on these nights he’s fast to fall asleep, quick to be lulled into a dreamy haze by the feeling of Bobby’s fingertips tracing the curve of his cheekbone, by the caress of his thumb gently brushing away any leftover tears clinging to his lashes.

He likes how later when he eventually wakes up, it’s always with one of the Bobby’s arms curled over his waist, warm hand resting on his bare hip in a way that makes Hanbin feel safe, feel wanted.

...

...

Feel like he’s found a place he belongs.

...

...

When things go right, Bobby’s hands are the first Hanbin searches for, are what he reaches out for to hold in his own and squeeze tightly in excitement or celebration.

When things go wrong, Bobby’s fingers are the first to find him, are what always pull him close and stroke down his arms until they intertwine with Hanbin’s own and he can run his thumb back and forth along the back of Hanbin’s hand until it stops shaking.

On the worst days and on the worser nights, Bobby’s hand is what Hanbin holds clings to, clutching it tightly to his chest and focusing on the steady pulse in Bobby’s wrist until he can breathe again and the world stops feeling like it's coming to an end.

...

...

Sometimes.

...

...

Sometimes, Hanbin pictures Bobby’s hands in the future, imagines them older and more calloused with less chipped nail polish on the fingernails and with only one watch on the wrist instead of two or three.

...

Pictures them pulling him into a hug on the day they finally release an album together.

...

...

Pictures them sliding a gold band onto his left ring finger that matches the one already glinting on Bobby’s own.

...

...

...

Pictures them holding tightly to a tiny bundle of blankets, complete with rosy cheeks and crinkled eyes, that one day calls them both _appa_.

...

...

...

It’s true that Hanbin’s always had a thing for hands.

...

...

But Bobby’s hands are his favorite.

**Author's Note:**

> surprise? i guess
> 
> will i finish my unfinished fics? honestly probably not (but there's always that small chance seeing as i also didn't see myself posting another ikon fic). 
> 
> hope this could bring a bit of joy to someone out there <3


End file.
